


Bare

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Barebacking, Commitment, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter isn't sure if Neal's in this for good; Neal doesn't like that Peter doesn't trust him. They find a way to fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bare

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a prompt on the kink meme quite a few months back that asked for the first time they do it without a condom. It didn't quite meet the prompt, but I hope it's enjoyable anyway. Consenting Elizabeth, written as future fic when Kate was still alive.
> 
> Thank you to smittywing. :)

It's been a day.

Not a bad one, thankfully, but rough, and Peter can't stop the doubt that's butterflying through his gut, the fear that's been locking up his spine and whispering damning words in his brain. He paces on his side of the table, trying to figure out what he can say this time to get his point across, but he's pretty damn sure it's an exercise in futility.

"I don't get what the big deal is," Neal says for the umpteenth time. "You've always known I have caches. And there's nothing in this one that you'd have to bust me for."

Peter braces his hands on the uprights of one of the slat-back chairs and leans his weight in threateningly. Neal just looks up at him from the other side of the table, completely nonplussed. Like Peter's concerns are dandelion fluff on water, quick to float away and of just as much consequence. "That's not the point, and you know it."

"I'm not going to run, Peter. I told you that."

"So the account is what, insurance?"

Neal turns his hands in a palms-up shrug. "Pretty much, yeah."

Peter nods until Neal nods along with him. "Insurance in case you have to run."

The hit is direct enough that Neal actually flinches. He pushes out of the chair and away from the table, circling closer to Peter but staying well outside his personal space. "You honestly believe that, don't you? That I'm going to run the first chance I get."

"I don't know what--" Peter sighs. He rubs his eyelids with the tips of his fingers, then drops his hand down, curling his fingers under until he can feel the blunted edges of his nails dig into his cheekbones. Nothing helps the building throb behind his eyeballs. He gives up the effort, letting his hands fall before he confesses what's been eating at him all day. "No. I think I'm stupid because I want to believe that you won't."

"Peter..." Neal's eyes are so blue, so beautifully blue, that sometimes Peter forgets to look for what's in them. Not this time, though.

"Forget it," Peter says. Arguing won't solve anything. Either Neal will run, or he won't, and Peter's not going to nail down that future today, no matter how much he wants to do so.

"Right. Because you're going to do exactly that."

Peter presses his lips together. The only things he can think to say will lead them back into the fight. He starts to reach out instead, but Neal spins away from him. He marches across the room to the bedroom area, to the bedside table, opening the drawer that Peter knows the contents of very well. Sure enough, Neal pulls out the box of condoms--and tosses them in the trashcan next to the bed.

"Oh, nice. Yes, that's very mature." Peter sets his hands on his hips, ignoring the pitch and roll of his gut. "One little argument and it's over?"

Neal's smile is a ghost, barely there and impossible to decipher as he fishes in the drawer again. He pulls out the bottle of lube--and tosses it onto the bed. Peter stares at it, at the little divot of wrinkles it creates on the duvet. He takes a few steps closer, but he can't figure out what equation he's supposed to be solving.

"I'm getting some mixed signals here. You wanna help me out?"

Neal starts on the button at his throat. "You're worried I'm going to run. I'm not happy that you don't trust me. I figure if we do it this way, it'll address both our concerns."

Peter swallows. "That's..."

"A brilliant idea? I kind of think so." Neal's got his shirt completely undone now, lapels parted enough to show the undershirt beneath, but he doesn't move to finish the job.

Peter shakes his head. "Crazy. You're completely crazy."

"I thought you liked my crazy ideas."

Peter strokes his thumb and index finger over his eyebrows, pushing the tension out of his forehead as he tries to think. "This won't prove anything."

"I'm in this for good. I have been since I chose you over Kate. Before that, probably." Neal's gaze turns inward, his smile fading away, and Peter suddenly feels guilty as hell. Before he can say anything, can do anything, Neal's eyes snap up. "The question is, Peter, are you?"

There's really only one way he can respond to that. "I have to talk to Elizabeth first."

Neal nods. "Then talk to her. I'll be here."

*****

It's ten o'clock by the time he knocks on Neal's door again. Elizabeth had agreed easily enough, except for the part where she'd probed his feelings on the matter for nearly an hour, then spent another forty-five minutes on Neal's motivations. Peter had been tempted to let it drop until tomorrow, but he's not a stupid man. He knows the window to finish this conversation is small.

And, well, Neal's not the only one who needs this.

"Did you mean it?" he asks as soon as Neal opens the door. Neal's lips part, so beautifully, but then he catches whatever he was going to say and replaces it with a wry smile.

"Come in, Peter," he says, moving back just enough that Peter can get through the door without brushing against him. It's tempting to do so anyway, but not yet. Not just yet, not when Neal's still got that guarded look on his face. "I take it you talked to Elizabeth."

Peter nods. "I talked to Elizabeth. Which is why I'm asking: Did you mean the part about being in this for the long haul? Even after the tracker comes off?"

Neal sighs. "I wouldn't have offered what I did if I didn't. I like risk, Peter, but not in that way."

"Okay, then." He reaches for Neal, cups the back of his head, and draws him in for a kiss. It's a sweet kiss, not terribly deep but full of want, and Peter's struck by a moment of deja vu so strong it makes him lightheaded. When he figures it out, he gasps into Neal's mouth.

"Mmm." Neal pulls back, eyes warm but curious. "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing," Peter says reflexively, because there's no way he's going to confess that he was just reminded of kissing El at the altar. No rings for one thing, he tries to joke to himself, but his heart speeds up at the thought and he tells himself to shut the hell up. Instead he frames Neal's face with his hands and kisses him again, deeper and more passionate. More like a just-over-the-threshold kiss, and his brain is just not cooperating at all tonight.

"Come on," Neal says, tugging him towards the bed. Peter follows--there's no way he's not going to follow Neal--but when Neal reaches for his coat, Peter catches his hands.

"We don't have to do it this way, you know. Not to prove anything to me." He tries on a self-effacing smile. "I was kind of an ass earlier."

Neal hesitates, then leans in for a soft brush of lips. "Okay."

Peter's eyebrows climb. "Okay? I think you mean 'okay, but...'"

Neal sighs. "But what if I need you to prove it to me?"

And there it is, the cost of keeping his thoughts--his feelings--so close to the vest. Whatever's been going on in Neal's head tonight, it hasn't been marital kisses and honeymoon dreams. Elizabeth would kick Peter's ass if she knew how vulnerable he's left Neal.

"I can do that," Peter says, tugging Neal in for a hug. Nothing more than a hug, and that's something new for them, too, something that Peter's been too afraid to indulge in. Neal is stiff in his arms at first, but then he melts, muscles going slack as he lets Peter take some of his weight for a moment.

They work together to get their clothes off, Neal pushing Peter's coat from his shoulders and then draping it across the back of a chair, Peter tugging the hem of Neal's undershirt upwards until Neal takes over. Neal unbuttons the front of Peter's shirt while Peter handles the cuffs. Peter'd really rather take his time appreciating the soft silk sleep pants Neal's in, but he doesn't protest the push and shimmy that has them dropping to the floor.

Finally naked, they climb onto the bed, lying on their sides as they just look at each other for a moment. The sheet and comforter are all the way down at the foot of the bed, and Peter tucks his bare feet under the folds to keep them warm. (Even though Neal's a guy, too, he doesn't appreciate socks during sex any more than El does. "Only if they're the ones with puppies on them," he'd said the first time, evil twinkle in his eyes. "Or, ooh! Did Elizabeth happen to give you a pair with kittens?" Point, game, match; Peter hasn't even considered leaving his socks on since.)

"Well, this is awkward," Peter says after _a_ moment has stretched into three or four with neither of them making a move.

Neal snorts, smile shining his eyes. "That's because you're thinking too much."

"And you're not?"

"Touché." Neal scoots forward and lays his hand on the side of Peter's face, thumb coming to rest at the corner of Peter's mouth. "You have no idea how expressive your mouth is, do you? You can keep it out of your eyes, but you have the tiniest tells, right here." He touches the spot where Peter knows wrinkles form when he frowns. He's not sure what Neal means--he's been accused of having a stone face and a perpetual frown by more than one person--but Neal shifts his hand and reels him in for a kiss.

Peter and Elizabeth had slept together before they were married--many, lovely, perfect times that Peter is still grateful for. But that first night, after their wedding, just climbing into bed together had been electric in a way that it hadn't been since the first few times. Peter can't get that thought out of his head now, can't make himself be unaware of exactly what's going on in his heart. It's why finding out about that rainy day account had hurt so much, earlier, and why he wants to say stupid, sappy things right now.

He's not sure if Neal wants to hear them, though, no matter how uncertain he'd sounded earlier. So Peter rolls over onto his back, drawing Neal on top of him without breaking the kiss. If this is what Neal wants--no, needs--as proof, then Peter will damn well give it to him.

Neal slides his hand under one of the pillows, and then into Peter's hand, pressing the lube into his palm. It takes Peter a moment to figure out why, distracted as he is by Neal's mouth on his. Rather than break the kiss, he pushes the bottle back into Neal's hand. Neal doesn't take it.

"Oh, for-- Now we're going to fight over who gets to bottom?"

Neal starts laughing, dropping his head to Peter's shoulder. It's hard to hold onto his momentary exasperation. Especially when Neal looks up, lips curving. "We could always flip for it."

Peter opens his mouth to tell him that's ridiculous, that he's not about to do something so childish, when it occurs to him that it actually is the perfect solution. The only way he'll know that the choice will be fair, whether he's reading Neal right or not.

"I'm not letting you flip, you know," he says, shoving Neal off of him so he can roll over and stretch over the edge of the bed for his pants. There's a small handful of change in his pocket, and he manages to fish out a quarter without too much effort. He holds it up between them.

"Tails," Neal calls, smug grin on his face. Peter just rolls his eyes and watches the coin drop to the sheets.

It's tails, of course.

Peter's eyebrow doesn't dampen Neal's mirth at all. He holds up both hands, palms up. "I didn't have anything to do with that, I swear."

"Sometimes I don't know why I just don't take you to Vegas, set up a retirement account," Peter mutters.

"I really don't, either." Neal's eyes flick to the sides, like they do when he's planning something out. "Although, Vegas _is_ rather gauche. Monaco is so much more my style."

"Maybe you'd better just concentrate on getting lucky here and now instead."

Neal's smile turns fond, his eyes going soft and real in that way that Peter loves to make happen. "I'm all yours," he says, relaxing back against the pillow.

 _Yeah,_ Peter thinks, _yeah, you are._ It's an almost impossible thought, one that it's taken him a long time to feel is true down where it counts, in his gut. He fumbles the lube out of the fold of the sheet where it had been abandoned, then stretches out over Neal, taking his time for some lazy, deep kisses before getting down to business.

Although what they're about to do isn't business-like at all.

It's not the actual risk; they're both as clean as blood tests can declare them. It's the _idea_ of the risk. The symbolism inherent in what they're doing. Peter gets that. He might live in in the realities of the world most of the time, work a job that insists on facts and logic, that mistrusts instinct and daring, but he knows art. He knows the joy of discovering hidden meanings and unfolding stories, the way symbolism extends a work from a pretty picture to something _more_.

And Neal, Neal is an artist.

"Any day now, Peter."

A pushy, manipulative, irresistible artist who's grabbing hold of Peter's bare cock and stroking him to madness.

"Hold on." Peter grabs for the lube one more time. Then he's ready, this is it, his cock slick and Neal waiting. He takes a deep breath, and pushes in. They both gasp, breaths layered on top of each other.

"Peter," Neal says softly. He reaches up, brushing his index finger across Peter's bottom lip. Peter sucks it into his mouth, but then he can't wait any longer. He has to move. To thrust. It's a little hotter, a little more intense. Maybe not so much better that he couldn't go back to before, but it's good this way, definitely. Getting better as Neal starts moving against his every move, one arm stretched up above his head to push against the tall headboard. It stretches his whole body out, shows off the definition in his muscles and shoves his ass even further onto Peter's cock.

"That's-- Yeah, there, Peter." His face is crinkled with effort, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. There's a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his temples, his chest; even though Neal has as much grace in this as anything else he does, it's only here that he ever loses control. The little gasps and grunts he's making are ones that escape, not ones that he plans, and that drives Peter almost more crazy than the feel of him hot and tight around his cock.

Okay, maybe not _more_ than. Being inside Neal is pretty close to brain-meltingly good.

He's not going to last long. Not with Neal's eyes locked on his while he writhes. Peter shifts his weight to one hand and reaches between them so he can stroke Neal's cock. Neal clamps his free hand down hard on Peter's upper arm, and then he's coming. Peter lets go of his own control, his eyes slipping shut as he loses himself to the feel of Neal shuddering around him, and races over the edge seconds later.

His arm is shaking as he supports his own weight, but it takes him a moment to figure out how to unlock his muscles and joints to move. He finally manages to shift back onto his heels, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Neal looks up at him, eyes a little unfocused still, and licks his lips. He looks like...well, he looks like he's just been fucked well. "Whoa. That was..."

Peter snorts. "Yeah."

That earns him another grin, which shifts to a grimace as Neal starts to sit up. "Okay, there's one thing about condoms that I miss."

"Yeah, Elizabeth says the same thing." Peter's quads are still a little unsure about standing, but he manages it. "Hang on, I'll get a towel."

"Not the guest--"

Peter holds up a hand. "I know, don't worry." He has been married for over a decade, after all. He cleans up quickly, then brings both a wet cloth and a dry towel back to the bed. He debates what to do next as he watches Neal clean up. Elizabeth had made it pretty clear she doesn't expect him back tonight. It feels weird to ask, though, so he just climbs back into bed when Neal's in the middle of dumping the towels in the hamper.

Neal doesn't say anything. Just settles in beside him and pulls the sheet up. Somehow they rearrange themselves so that Peter's got his head on Neal's chest, Neal's arm around his back. He likes this position with Elizabeth sometimes, likes the role reversal of it, and it seems to work for the two of them, as well.

Neal's bed could use another six inches tacked onto the end, though.

"I can't tell what you're thinking like this." Neal doesn't seem perturbed, though. He's stroking his fingers lightly over Peter's back, just firmly enough not to tickle.

"I should keep that in mind. Probably wouldn't go over well at the office, though."

Neal snorts. "Oh, I don't know. I think Jones would be amused."

"Knowing him, yeah." Peter blows out a breath. "So, hey. I'm sorry I got so bent out of shape earlier."

"You were a little...spiky." It's not an _I forgive you,_ but Neal sounds amused enough for it to count the same. Enough for Peter to want to explain.

"With Elizabeth, when I start letting my insecurities getting the best of me, I bring it up, and she just sort of takes all the wind out of my bag. With you, I get more and more puffed up, and I don't know why."

Neal shrugs, his chest shifting under Peter's head. "Because we're too much alike, maybe."

"If a bull in a china shop is anything like a jungle cat, then yeah."

"No, Peter--" Neal's hand stills. "I get it, I do. But I promise you. The only way this ends is if you're the one who leaves."

Peter lifts his head, forehead pulling tight. They seem to have skipped over several pages, from his insecurities to Neal's. He pushes himself up on his elbow, so that Neal can easily read the truth of this. "You know that's not going to happen."

"I'm just saying." Neal swallows, Adam's apple bobbing nervously, but he doesn't drop Peter's gaze. "You know the lengths I went to trying to get Kate back."

Peter nods, then shrugs. "Yeah, but she was the love of your life."

"I thought she was, for a long time." Neal's smile is brilliant, and it steals all of the breath in Peter's lungs. "But I was wrong."

 

END


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